Front Line
by RagnarokSkurai
Summary: David's fighting two wars. He knows he can't win either of them. [DavidxChristopher]


As soon as Everworldly possible, David moved the home base off of the Dagger Mouth and away from Etain. He does it a little for Christopher, but mostly for himself.

On the way there, and afterwards, he doesn't watch Christopher as much as he should. It could be a bad idea. Christopher is on the edge right now. He's angry and hurt and too close to snapping, but David watching would only piss him off more, so David doesn't do it, no matter how much he wants to.

* * *

David's not smart enough to fool Jalil. Not even close. No matter how subtle he thinks he's being, Jalil knows. He doesn't even bother to be secretive when Jalil is around. David's never been good at keeping secrets anyway. 

April, though, can be dumber than a box of rocks when the occasion calls for it. She might have realized something is up – all right, not all _that_ dumb – but she hasn't connected it to Christopher. She couldn't possibly. It defies the logic April works with, the kind that guarantees happy endings and… and general _happiness_.

David has always done his best work with doomed love affairs.

* * *

It's stupid. Christopher isn't even that good looking, not like Ganymede or Galahad, or even Loki. His nose is too long, his face too square, and his hair is a plain shade of sandy-brown. His mouth has the potential to do terribly wicked things, both verbal and otherwise. He's not very fast or strong or smart. On his best days he's rude and irresponsible, drinks like a fish and fights like a girl. In a war like this, he's the best and worst kind of liability. He's a disaster waiting to happen, and it's has to be very wrong for David to hope it will happen to him.

* * *

If David knows anything, it is that war is hell. Mud and rain and death and pain and suffering. It's more than any man in any kind of world should have to go through. Late at night he tries to remember what he's doing, why he's sending so many men to their deaths, and he can't think of a good enough reason. He leaves Christopher with the foot soldiers. He doesn't have to. He probably shouldn't. The foot soldiers are the grunts, the first to charge, the first to die. They're like the sand in the gladiatorial arena – just there to stem the bloodflow and just as easily disposable.

There must be a reason David always rides into battle with the foot soldiers.

* * *

No one has ever accused David of being an optimist. April calls him a pessimist all the time, actually, but David thinks he's a realist; he knows the world is shitty and generally not fair and that the bad guys win a hell of a lot more than the good guys. Knowing that is what makes him a realist. Maybe accepting it without question is what makes him a pessimist.

It ends up that this time the bad guys lose.

David's not so much of a pessimist he can't get behind that.

He sees Christopher in the crowd. One face out of thousands and he knows it. Christopher is dirty and sweaty. One side of his face bruised and he's still as beautiful as David has ever seen him. It makes something twists in David's stomach. He shoves Galahad's sword in the scabbard still covered in blood and pushes his way through the crowd.

It doesn't magically part like the moment seems to call for. He has to push his way past men covered in blood, and he trips over bodies and body parts and dropped shields. Finding Christopher is only half the miracle; the other half is Christopher's arms closing tightly around him.

* * *

The post-battle feast is chaotic. Vikings and Amazons and Greeks and gods and nymphs and satyrs and leprechauns and dwarves and elves, all mixing, all mingling. So glad Ka Anor is dead they're willing to overlook all the past wars between them and all the wars that are to come. For now, they're just celebrating -- drinking, eating, laughing, dancing, talking, making speech after speech and toast after toast to _him_, to General Davidus, to a middle class white boy one generation away from trailer trash. It's all he's ever wanted, this acceptance, this worship, the cheers and the smiles, and it's all static whenever Christopher looks at him. 

This time the crowd parts around him, surprisingly, and getting to Christopher is easier than it should be. David has all ready won two impossible wars today. Being a pessimist, he almost hates to push his luck.

But he does, and he will, and maybe he'll find that you really make your own luck after all.


End file.
